As I worked my way up Highway 1 along the coast towards Bar Harbor where I was due to catch the ferry the following afternoon, I often looked down at a Czech phrase that I always kept on top of the map in my tankbag. Eight years ago I rode my cousin's Yamaha SR500 from Switzerland to meet my friend Ellen Anderson in Pilsen, Czechoslovakia and among the friendly people I met was a young engineer who told me how to say in Czech, "stick a needle in your throat," a phrase that has no vowels. Strj prst skrs krk. That little scrap of paper was a constant reminder of the fun weeks I spent in eastern part of the Czech Republic just months after the velvet revolution. It reminded me of the fantastic 10-cent beers, the Rolling Stones concert I saw in the world's largest stadium, and of Angela, a beautiful and beguiling Canadian who had been studying with Ellen and on whom I'd had a crush. And who grew up in Nova Scotia.

The two-hour ferry ride from Bar Harbor to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, was marked by my anxiety about the bike falling over down in the hold of the ship, two whale sightings, and steady rain. When I arrived at 9pm in Yarmouth I had no interest in looking for a hotel room, but a burning desire to find out what had become of Angela. I boldly headed for the shelter of the tourist information center and dialed. As luck would have it, she had just arrived from NYC and was spending the summer only 15 minutes outside of Yarmouth in a friend's old farmhouse. My hopes were dashed as she and her boyfriend met me at the door, but as a consolation prize Brad poured me a shot of Tequila and bellowed an offer of a funny little cigarette. The evening was pleasant as I ate the only food they had left--hard-boiled eggs and toast--and we went to bed early, surrounded by Christian icons and binders full of product-line descriptions of all-natural beauty aids and health-care products. The fact that Brad is a member of the Crash Test Dummies can now be interpreted as The Second Warning Sign.

The next morning I waited for hours for my hosts to get up. I enjoyed the peaceful back yard, I read a chapter in a book Brad had just bought, White Trash, coincidentally co-edited by a friend of mine, and then I finally wrote a thank-you note that included my favorite Czech phrase. It made me glad to be able to finally share it again with someone who might understand it. Then with one smooth move I threw my leg over the bike, squarely hitting the sleeping bag strapped to the back seat and knocking the whole bike to the ground. The gasoline liberally ran out through the leaky gas tank cap as memories of the pain I experienced when I put my back out a year ago in a similarly elegant move came back to me. Unable to lift the bike by myself, I yelled for Brad to help me, but his earplugs were in a little too tight and I got no resonse. I hailed some passing pedestrians who helped me get the job done even though the woman informed me that the man had suffered a heart attack the previous year. I thanked the couple and tried to make a quick escape, but by this time Angela and Brad were in the kitchen. They helped me find a shop at which I could replace the sparkplug cap that had been smashed by the weight of the bike and with my tail between my legs I headed back into Yarmouth.

The problem was solved an hour later and so I headed along the picturesque southeastern coast of Nova Scotia, taking in the cultural clues that my travel guide had pointed out: districts with alternating concentrations of typically French or typically British names, a significant Black population here and there, and all along the coast pristine coves harboring fishing boats. I made a mental note to remember to put in new sparkplugs when I returned home, and a matching sparkplug cap to match the good one that hadn't been injured. At 6pm I arrived in Halifax which by that time no longer had any rooms available for less than $200. The weather was absolutely perfect, so I headed to a nearby campground. As I checked in it occurred to me that with all my last-minute problems I'd forgotten to bring my tent. But I wasn't going to let this little detail ruin my evening, so I threw my sleeping bag down on the ground and headed out for some dinner. The restaurant was closed by now and the Puritan settlers didn't allow the sale of alcohol at regular grocery stores, so I was forced to wash a bad pizza down with water. I went to sleep under millions of bright stars at 9:30 and I decided my day had worked out OK after all.

I woke up before anyone else in the campground and quietly went east along the coast, and then headed north. The locals at the coffee shop were openly amused by my all-black outfit but in a genuinely friendly and honest way. This kind of reaction is what makes the lone motorcyclist ever more self-righteous about his careful attention to safety. It took effort to contain my contempt for the Harley rider I met at the gas station that morning who was wearing only tights, a tee-shirt and a leather vest. Why did she think that just because I was also from Massachusetts I'd want to talk to her? I wished her a safe trip and thought about the metal brush I've heard they use in hospital emergency rooms to remove the embedded gravel from the flesh of motorcyclists who crash without the proper gear.

In New Glasgow I turned east and headed towards Cape George; the Northumberland Strait and the highest tides in the world in the Bay of Fundy were also on my schedule for the day. Looking down at the controls I noticed that the tachometer now wouldn't indicate engine speed under about 2,500rpm. Yet another repair for my return. On the other hand I admired the nifty spot on the handlebars where I'd fastened my watch so I could check the time while riding. No sooner had I pulled off the highway and onto a smaller back road before I found myself going too fast in a tight turn. I vivdly remember thinking what I've long known to do: lean the bike harder since using the brakes will straighten the motorcycle's path, ensuring that you don't make the turn. But, alas, my number was up and I hit the guard rail on my side of the road and the next thing I knew I was seeing sky, then pavement, then sky..... I stood up quickly, jumped to the side of the road and watched the bonfire start to rage in the middle of my lane.

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